by Ruth Wind
The jukebox, which had been playing steadily, suddenly clicked off, plunging the room into thick silence. And suddenly, Mattie was aware that she was alone with this man in the middle of the night in a locked bar. Desperate straits, even for her.
Don't ever let 'em know they've got you.
It was as if Jamie were right there speaking to her, and his words steadied her nerves. As calmly as she was able, she met Zeke's pale gaze. "I said I don't choose to play again."
"Is that right." He stepped a little closer, huge as a giant, his broad, burly shoulders blocking her view.
She forced herself to stand her ground. "That's right."
He smiled. It was a dangerous, deeply sexual smile. "A hundred dollars is a pretty big sum of money to lose," he said. With one finger, he reached out to stroke her arm, and his gaze followed the movement over her skin. She felt every millimeter of the journey, but forced herself not to react.
"It's a risk you take." She shifted to put her cue aside. "I have to go."
His hand curled around her arm. "Not yet."
Violently, Mattie jerked away. "You've got your money. What do you want?"
"I'll make you a deal."
She crossed her arms. "What deal?" Again he stepped closer, and Mattie felt an irrational sense of disappointment. He was going to offer to cancel the debt in trade for sex. In spite of some of her fear of him, she'd thought him a cut above that. And yet, her eyes caught on his lips and she couldn't help wishing she could kiss him just once, to see what it was like. He had the most beautiful mouth she'd ever seen on a man. Firm and sensual, as if there was no end to the pleasures it could give. As she watched, the corners of that mouth quirked into a little smile.
"No, Miss Mary," he said. "Not that. I already told you I have rules about good girls."
"You are the most arrogant man I've ever met," she said in a wondering tone. "Why do you think every woman you run into wants to go to bed with you?"
"I don't." He grinned and edged one step closer, so close she could feel his extraordinary heat. "But you're a liar if you tell me you haven't given the notion some thought."
She looked at him, about to tell him just that. But she was caught in the pale sea-color of his eyes, and for the first time she noticed how thick and dark his lashes were.
His face changed as she stared at him. His lids grew sleepy and his mouth softened, and he edged closer still. His enormous hand curled around the back of her neck.
"You've got the most kissable lips I've ever seen in my life," he said quietly.
Her breath caught and her body stilled in an agony of waiting. She became aware of his earthy scent, and then everything was blotted out by his mouth.
His mouth. It touched hers lightly, just touched at first. And it seemed every nerve in her body suddenly rushed toward her mouth to join the explosion of sensation his lips brought. He moved his head and his mouth slid one way, then the other, and his fingers tightened around her neck, pulling her closer.
He suckled her lower lip with a lazy kind of savoring, then moved with the same slow hunger to her upper. She found her hands on his arms and wasn't sure if she was bracing herself or had just lost her mind entirely, but she couldn't pull away.
She couldn't resist tasting him, exploring him. Hungrily she moved, testing the curve and shape and pliant give of his mouth; she let her tongue inch out to tease the edge, just to see how it felt against hers.
Zeke made a low sound in his throat, and she found herself abruptly free, staring again into his harsh and compelling face. For a long moment, he simply looked at her intently, then pulled away, shaking his head.
"Damn," he said, shoving his hand through his hair. "That wasn't what – I didn't…"
He whirled and grabbed the money from their bet off the bar. With a violent gesture, he flung it all on the pool table. "I know you've got trouble and you need this money. Just tell me who you are, and I'll let you walk away with every single penny."
Mattie stared at him, at the money settling in scattered little flutters on the table and the floor. One twenty-dollar bill landed on her toe.
In an agonized whisper, she asked, "Why do you care? Why can't you just leave me alone?"
"I don't know." He sighed. "It bugs me that I can't remember why I know you. It seems—" he frowned "—important."
Mattie didn't wait to hear any more. She whirled and ran for the door. She grabbed the handle and yanked. Futilely. A dead bolt held it firm. With a soft sound of panic, she tugged again.
"I've got the key." Zeke came up behind her. "If you'll get the hell out of the way, I'll open it for you."
She schooled herself to step back, watching as he turned the key and jerked open the door with a sharp, annoyed gesture. "Go on, now," he said. "Run on home, Miss Mary."
Something in that derisive tone chased away her fear. "I forgot something," she said, and squatted to take the money out of her shoe. With a gesture as patronizing as she could manage, she tucked the bills into his shirt pocket.
Or tried. He dodged out of reach when he realized her intent. "C'mon, Mary. Keep it."
"You won it fair and square." Firmly, she stuffed it in the pocket and brushed by him.
"Mary!"
She ignored him. The thin, dry desert air had a bite this time of night, even in full summer. She should have brought a jacket with her.
"Mary, will you hold on one cotton pickin' minute?"
She kept walking, striking out into the inky blackness of the mountain night without a second thought. At home in Kansas City, she wouldn't have crossed the street by herself this time of night. Here, there was no danger in the three blocks to her little cabin. It was deeply silent and smelled of pines. She would miss that fresh smell and the quiet.
A pithy word bit the night. Mattie heard the door slam. She didn't look back to see if he'd gone inside – surely he wouldn't walk off and leave a hundred dollars scattered over the pool table.
He would. The sound of his bike engine growled into the quiet. Mattie tensed, hearing him approach. He idled up beside her. "I suppose giving you a ride home is out of the question?"
The headlamp on the bike shot a path through the darkness. Mattie followed it, unwilling to admit she wanted the light, liked the comfort of engine noises in the quiet. She spared him a single glance, seeing only the sheen of his skin and the long tumble of his hair.
She kept walking.
"I'll just tag along for my own peace of mind, then."
Mattie stopped. "Zeke, what do you want from me? I wasn't even going to play you a game of pool until you insisted. I gave you the money you won. I haven't done anything to you – why won't you leave me alone?"
The bike stopped when she did and he held upright easily, the engine idling lazily between his legs. "I don't honestly know, Mary. You just seem like you—" He shook his head. "Like you're all alone."
"You're all alone."
"That's different."
"Right. You're a big bad man and I'm just a helpless little woman."
"Partly." He took a cigarette from his shirt pocket as he spoke. "I'm also a lot meaner and tougher than you. You aren't the kind of woman that ought to be hanging out in pool halls and walking home in the dark at all times of night."
"Thank you for your insight." Mattie started walking again.
His voice followed her. "I'll make you a deal, Miss Mary."
"Another one?"
"Just tell me your real first name." He cocked his head, and his smile was coaxing, friendly, sexy. "Just for my own satisfaction."
"And if I do, you'll leave me alone?"
He lit his cigarette. "If you want me to."
There was that arrogance again, in the sure tilt of his head, the half smile on that sensual mouth. The expression said no woman ever refused him anything. She crossed her arms. "Mattie."
He raised his chin, considering. "Matilda?"
"That wasn't part of the deal."
"Fair enough." He grinned. "Hop on.
I'll give you a ride."
"Not in this getup."
"Oh, who's gonna see? I won't peek." Restlessly, he flicked his wrist on the accelerator and the bike growled.
The dress was an excuse. No way, after that kiss in the bar, that she wanted to climb up behind him and lean into that long, muscled back. "No."
He shrugged and continued to walk the bike alongside her. For one whole block, neither of them said anything. Mattie would never have admitted it to him, but she liked the low purring of the bike and the lighted path its headlight made. "I can't get over how dark it is here," she said at last.
"Yeah. Makes me think of where I grew up."
Not home. Where he grew up. "Where is that?"
"Little town near Clinton, Mississippi. How 'bout you?"
Without even thinking, Mattie said, "Kansas City. Missouri side."
As soon as the words were out, a stab of cold terror struck her heart. How could she be so careless?
All at once, the evening overwhelmed her. Zeke had unnerved her with his pool game, his kiss, his big motorcycle and lazy drawl. Close to tears, she said, "Will you please just leave me alone?"
"Mary – Mattie – I'm sorry." He touched her arm, but she jerked away. "You see what I mean, honey? If I can trip you, someone else can, too."
"Don't you think I know that? Do you think this is normal for me?" She struggled to hold on to her disintegrating emotions, but felt the losing battle in the trembling of her arms. "All I'm trying to do is stay low, stay out of sight and keep moving. And I'd have been able to if you hadn't kept sticking your big nose in where it didn't belong."
They had reached the driveway of the motel. "I don't mean you any harm, Mattie," he said, his voice deep and quiet against the vastness of the night.
Mattie clenched her jaw. "I know." There was a quaver in her voice she loathed – and just the sound of it almost unleashed her tears. Urgently, she stared at the green neon tubing on the office door: Shady Pine Motel. The letters blurred, then cleared as she gained control.
Zeke hadn't moved. If only she could turn to him the way she longed to, finally tell someone all the terrible things she'd seen, release her horror somehow. If only she could tell someone, she wouldn't feel so lonely.
He took her hand. "Take care, Mattie. I won't bother you again."
Something touched her hand, but before she had a chance to see what it was, he'd roared off, taillight blinking red in the darkness.
Mattie opened her palm and saw the neatly folded twenties she'd given him.
* * *
Chapter 5
«^»
Zeke didn't sleep well or long. By seven, he was up and dressed and headed over to the café, breaking not only several of his own rules – namely to leave good girls alone and to mind his own business – but also his promise to Mattie.
But his instincts were screaming. Rules didn't hold much weight against that.
The café was busy with the breakfast rush, but already the road crews and park police had begun to clear out. Zeke took his customary place at the counter, setting a long white envelope with Mattie's name on it beside the napkin.
"Morning, gorgeous," Roxanne said, automatically filling a heavy ceramic mug with coffee. "How you doing today?"
"All right. Is Mary here?"
"It's her day off. You're stuck with me."
He scowled. Mattie was probably long gone by now. "Damn," he said aloud.
Roxanne lifted an eyebrow. "Come on, now. I'm not that bad a waitress, am I?"
"That's not what I meant." He touched the envelope on the counter. "I've got something for her. She forgot it last night."
"She kicked your butt, too, huh?"
Zeke couldn't tell if she was pleased or annoyed. "I guess."
"I've never seen a woman play pool like that."
"She's good, no question." He sipped his hot coffee. "Where did you go, anyway?"
Roxanne shrugged, and this time, it was plain she was miffed. "As long as she was playing, there was no point to my hanging around."
He chuckled. "Turnabout is fair play. I've seen you hog the attention of every man in the room on more than one occasion."
"Yeah, but she doesn't do it on purpose." She shook her head, giving him a rueful grin. "Meow."
A man called for more coffee. Roxanne lifted a finger to tell him to wait a minute. "You want something to eat?"
Zeke shook his head. "Just the coffee right now."
"All right." With a quirky smile, she added, "If you need anything, just whistle."
There was coffee in his cup. so he might as well drink it. He knew he wouldn't find Mattie and it depressed the hell out of him. She couldn't have had more than two hundred dollars in that shoe of hers, and how could she get by with that? He'd gone back to the bar and collected the money he'd tossed at her, planning to slip it under her door. At the last minute, he'd decided to wait until he could give it to her face-to-face.
Wished he hadn't waited now.
Damn. He'd worried about her all night long, tossing and turning as he tried to figure out how he knew her, and what she was afraid of.
The pieces just didn't hang together. Even given the fact that somebody, somewhere had taught her to hustle pool, Zeke would bet she really was exactly what she seemed, a nice woman from the Midwest who'd done exactly what she was supposed to do all her life. And yet, now she was in enough trouble she had to change her name and hide out in a little town a long way from home.
What kind of trouble could a woman like Mattie possibly find?
There was an easy answer to that question. The only obvious answer: an abusive husband. He thought of her burned hands and the sad story she'd told about them, but he'd told a lie or two about his own scars. No one wanted to admit to having been abused. There was always sick, secret guilt attached.
Restlessly, he stirred his coffee and tapped the spoon on the edge of the cup.
Maybe it wasn't a husband. Maybe it was something else and he just filled in the abusive angle from his own experience.
Whatever it was, it was bad. And whatever Mattie thought, she didn't have the tools to stay hidden long. It wasn't as hard as most people thought to find somebody you really wanted to find. Most folks, and he'd bet a dollar to a doughnut that Mattie was one of them, left clues in a bright red trail behind them.
Damn.
The old need filled him, near to choking. It had grown in childhood, when he was the only one his sisters had. Grimly, he tapped the spoon, watching fat brown drops of coffee fall to the pool below, fighting memories of a cruel and brutal man.
His instincts told him she was in deep trouble. But what had his instincts ever got him? The last time he'd stepped into someone's life like this, it had ended up costing him nearly everything.
Leave it alone.
That would be the smart thing. Unfortunately, smart never seemed to enter into many of his decisions. Impulsively, he asked Roxanne, "What time does the bus come in?"
"About ten or eleven, I think."
He nodded. Probably wasn't any other way out of town for Mattie. Maybe he could still catch her.
And maybe he ought to listen to sense just once in his life. Mattie herself had made it plain she wanted him to mind his own business.
He didn't like trouble. There ought to be a limit, after all, to how much trouble one man had to manage in one lifetime.
As he argued with himself, two men came in and sat at the counter. One was tall, redheaded, with the freckled, wholesome good looks of a popsicle man. The other, though just as well groomed, carried a faintly greasy aura. His hooded eyes scanned the room. Both men wore city ideas of camping gear: chinos and flannel shirts with creases in the sleeve sharp enough to cut bread. Zeke looked at their boots. Clean soles.
They made small talk with the waitress, Cora, an older woman who filled in only on the main waitress's day off. Redhead ordered a cup of coffee and raved about the beauty of the area in a hearty tone. Zeke couldn't say why
the man's praise rang false, but his nerves prickled.
Warily, he shifted on the swivel stool and glanced through the plate-glass window at the front of the diner, looking for the car the pair had driven. A fancy El Camino, not a rental.
It had Kansas plates.
Affecting carelessness, Zeke turned back and waved for a refill on his coffee. Redhead kept talking. "You know," he told Cora, "we're not really on a pleasure trip. We've been looking for someone … my sister. Maybe you've seen her."
Zeke lifted his cup, keeping his eyes on the pass-out bar as if what they said made no difference to him.
"You got a picture?" Cora asked.
"Sure do. Right here." He pulled out his wallet.
Zeke glanced over, feigning idle curiosity. Redhead wore a guileless expression, a smile so innocent it practically shone. The picture he tugged from a cellophane sleeve was too small for Zeke to see from three stools over.
"She's pretty, isn't she?" Redhead said. "My sister, Mattie O'Neal. She left her boyfriend standing at the altar and we just want to find her and let her know everything is okay."
Cora patted her apron pocket for glasses. "Poor thing," she said.
"You can't tell it in the picture," Redhead said, "but she has the most gorgeous hair you've ever seen. Way past her hips, kind of wavy."
With a sudden flash, Zeke remembered why Mattie looked so familiar – and understood why he couldn't place her. He also realized Redhead was lying. Moving as lazily as possible, he stood up, dropped a dollar on the counter, picked up the envelope full of money and waved to Roxanne.
As he headed for the door, he heard Redhead say, "Her hands are scarred, too. Burned them with paraffin making candles when she was sixteen."
Zeke walked faster. Just as he reached the front door, Roxanne said, "Burned hands? Mary's hands are burned like that."
The hairs on the back of his neck stiff as teeth, Zeke shoved open the door. Coming in were two guys from the road crew. Both had been in the bar last night.
They trapped him with the open door in his hand. "Zeke Shephard, you dog! Did you manage to beat Mary's game last night?"
